


A Witch Scorned

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [32]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Dragon Riders, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, hurt Ayelet, hurt Rhaego
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: Milady retaliates against Rochefort, inflicting a magical wound that will prove fatal unless the Musketeers make a journey to the Jura for a miracle cure. But Milady isn’t about to make it easy for them.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [32]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

Rochefort moved through the darkened corridors of the palace, soft footfalls finding his way without the need of a torch. He didn't want his movements marked, after all, especially at this hour of night.

He headed down to the private chapel, pausing at the door to make sure it was empty. The sub level chamber was wreathed in shadows and the faint flicker of votive candlelight. Rochefort scanned the Stygian corners for concealed figures. Hm, she was late.

He moved further into the room, crossing to the votives to light one in case anyone came upon him. He had to keep up appearances.

When he turned back around, his heart gave a small jolt as Milady detached from the shadows, stepping into the light like a creature formed from their inky tendrils that clung to her cloak like sticky webs. Rochefort glowered in response.

"Have you made arrangements to dispose of Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan?" he asked without preamble.

She regarded him coolly for an extra beat. "I used to meet with the Cardinal in these chambers," she said instead, ignoring his question. "We were both once his top spies."

Rochefort took a menacing step forward. "The Cardinal would have been the first to condemn you to the fire for turning down this path of blasphemy," he hissed.

"The Cardinal was not above using whatever means necessary to accomplish his goals," she seethed back. "Including the use of magic." She gave Rochefort a simpering moue. "As are you."

"We are not here to debate the practice of witchcraft," he retorted. "Now, tell me your plans to be rid of the musketeers before I decide to offer up your head to the King instead."

Her eyes flashed dangerously, and he smirked, tapping a medallion hung around his neck.

"I came prepared," he warned, the seal adequate protection against any spell she might want to throw at him.

Milady's lips curved upward. "So did I."

With a flash of reflexes, she whipped out a dagger and plunged it into his side. Rochefort gasped and went rigid, fire spearing through him.

Milady leaned in close. "I have waited this long to plan my revenge, and no one is going to dictate how I carry it out."

Rochefort lashed out to grab her wrist that still held the knife in his side, but she yanked it away, pulling the blade out with a vicious squelch. He cried out and dropped to his knees, cupping his hands to the wound that pumped blood out into his palms.

Milady straightened and backed away, sinking back into the shadows to disappear.

Rochefort struggled to turn toward the door, but a shockwave of pain toppled him to his side. A glacial iciness was seeping through his stomach, replacing the burn of the stab wound. He tried to lever himself up and drag himself across the floor, but he only made it a few inches before he collapsed again, his lifeblood pooling on the stone around him.

.o.0.o.

Athos was just about to retire to bed when a loud banging on his outer door reverberated throughout the office. He crossed the room to answer it, braced for whatever urgent news it must be. Colbert, the musketeer on night watch, was standing on the landing.

"Rochefort's been attacked," he reported.

Athos reached for his coat hanging behind the door and slipped it on. "By whom?"

"Don't know. Treville only sent word that it happened."

"Get Aramis and Porthos," Athos instructed as he retrieved his weapons belt next. Assuming they were in the barracks. D'Artagnan, of course, lived at the dragon compound next door, but Athos didn't feel inclined to wake Constance and Jean at this hour in order to summon him.

Only Porthos looked like he'd been roused from slumber as he shuffled out of his room. Aramis had dark circles under his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights ever since Milady had tortured him with the ghosts of Savoy.

"What's this about Rochefort?" Porthos groused.

"All I know is he was attacked," Athos replied as the three of them set off toward the palace.

"Shouldn't that be somethin' for his new palace guards to be investigating?"

"Treville wouldn't have sent word this late if he didn't want us there."

"Maybe he's dyin'," Porthos muttered.

Athos didn't say anything to that. Aramis didn't say anything at all.

They reached the Louvre and came across servants in a tizzy, running to and fro with shouted orders to get more clean bandages and water. The musketeers made their way through the corridor to Rochefort's chambers where they found Treville, along with the King and Queen in their night robes, standing outside.

"It's serious?" Athos asked Treville in a quiet voice. Both Louis and Anne looked upset as they stood in the hall.

"A stab wound in the side," Treville replied. "He was found in one of the private chapels."

"What was he doing there?" Rochefort didn't strike Athos as the spiritual type.

Treville just gave him a look that said he didn't know.

They continued to wait outside as servants came and went, rushing in with towels and removing buckets of bloody water. The longer it went on, the more Athos began to suspect that Porthos's earlier prediction of Rochefort dying might prove true. The King and Queen certainly grew paler as they watched the grim procession.

"What is happening?" Louis demanded impatiently.

"We must let Doctor Lemay work," Anne said, reaching out to clasp his hand, though it was clear she needed as much comfort from the touch as she was trying to offer.

After several more minutes, the door finally opened wide and a servant curtsied in indication they could enter. They all filed inside and gathered around the opulent bed where Rochefort lay, chest swathed heavily with bandages that were seeping red. To their surprise, the Comte was conscious, his face gray and pinched in obvious pain.

"Rochefort," Anne breathed, pressing a hand to her throat.

"Doctor?" Louis prompted, voice cracking slightly.

Lemay looked nervous. "The wound refuses to stop bleeding," he said regretfully. "I will have to resort to cauterizing, but he insisted on speaking with you first."

"Who did this to you?" Treville asked Rochefort directly.

Rochefort peeled his eyes open, irises clouded. "The witch," he gritted out. "Milady."

Louis's and Anne's faces drained of color, and the King spun on his musketeers.

"This is the second time the witch has come into the palace and attacked an important head of state! Obviously, she is not just after the three of you." His voice rose in shrill pitch with each amplifying word.

Athos internally flinched under the castigation yet managed to remain outwardly stoic. It didn't make sense, though he wasn't about to say so in front of a very distraught King. Why would Milady have risked coming into the palace to attack Rochefort? Or perhaps it wasn't that great a risk; she did know all the secret passages from her time as the Cardinal's spy and assassin. Still, what was her motivation? Unless Rochefort truly was making progress in tracking her down.

"Perhaps Rochefort was getting too close and she felt threatened," Treville spoke up, ever the diplomatic captain. The kind Athos was supposed to be acting like were it not for the personal weight this situation held for him.

"I was," Rochefort put in, sucking in a sharp breath. He flailed a hand over his bandaged stomach. "Most likely she spelled the blade. I've heard of magical wounds like this before. No mortal treatment can heal them."

The Queen made a small gasp. "But you wish to cauterize?" she asked Lemay.

The physician nodded. "I may not be an expert in witchcraft, but I have yet to see a wound withstand that level of treatment."

"Then proceed," Rochefort ground out tersely.

Lemay waved for them to leave. "I'll need the room. Aramis," he added. "I hate to impose, but have you had experience with this type of emergency?"

Aramis's jaw visibly tightened but he forced out a stiff nod.

"I could use an extra pair of hands," Lemay said apologetically.

Aramis nodded again and started to undo his weapons belt and remove his coat, which he handed off to Porthos.

Rochefort's face was bloodless, he was clenching his jaw so tightly, though whether from the pain of his wound or the fact he had to endure a musketeer helping him, none could say.

The rest of them reluctantly filed out to the hallway to once again wait for news.

"I want the guard at the palace doubled, Treville," Louis said. "Are there any musketeers whom we can trust to protect us at this point?"

"We mustn't blame Athos and the others," Anne swiftly put in. "This witch is clearly a madwoman. And it is only because of Rochefort's expertise in hunting her that has caused this."

Athos tried not to shift awkwardly in place. He wasn't quite convinced of that. It wasn't like Rochefort _had_ made much progress over the past few weeks.

"We can station dragons on the grounds along with a handful of musketeers who have had no dealings with Milady in the past," he said, stepping back into his captain's role.

Louis exhaled heavily and gave a clipped nod of acceptance.

A horrendous scream rent the air, even through the closed door, cutting off any further discussion. Anne flinched and hugged herself tightly as tears pooled in her eyes. Athos wanted to suggest she not remain here to listen to this, but he suspected the notion would insult her. Louis definitely looked like he wanted to flee, but he didn't, not with everyone else holding their ground. Athos would have left if not for Aramis having stayed to help Lemay.

The tortured screams went on, so much so that Athos and even Porthos began to wince in sympathy. No man should have to endure that.

When at long last it went silent, they were all grateful, though there was also a measure of dread hanging in the air for what the news would be. The door opened and Lemay and Aramis stepped out, both looking pale and sweaty as they rolled down their sleeves.

Lemay took a steadying breath. "It didn't work."

Athos's brows rose in surprise.

"Is he dead?" Anne gasped, voice breaking.

"No, Your Majesty," Lemay rushed to assure her. "He still lives. But the cauterization failed to stop the bleeding as I'd hoped."

"You assured us this would work," Louis snapped.

Lemay looked lost. "I have never seen anything like this, Your Majesty. The cauterization sealed the flesh yet it continues to weep. I am afraid if I cannot stop it, he will die."

Athos exchanged subtle looks with Porthos and Aramis. None of them could honestly say such a fate would bother them overly much. Although there was the matter of needing Rochefort's help to continue hunting Milady.

Lemay cleared his throat awkwardly. "Though I consider myself a man of science and hold more faith in its tenets than I do those of the otherworldly, there is something that might help." He turned to the musketeers. "Do you remember that miracle flower from the Jura you retrieved to cure Aramis of that scorpion bite?"

Athos tensed minutely. "Of course."

"I had not believed it would prove effective, but it did," Lemay went on. "It might work in this case."

"We must try anything," Anne urged, giving them all beseeching looks.

Athos inclined his head stiffly. He was not looking forward to a dangerous mission to the Jura, and for Rochefort no less, but they could not refuse their Sovereign's command.

"We will leave at first light," he said.

The Queen nodded gratefully.

"Your Majesties should get some rest," Treville put in.

Louis nodded and gestured for Anne to accompany him away from Rochefort's chambers.

"I shall return to my patient," Lemay said. "Good luck."

Porthos snorted softly as the doctor left. "Maybe Rochefort will die before we get back."

Treville shot him a warning look.

Porthos scowled. "You know if our places were reversed he'd take his dear sweet time helpin' one o' us."

"Most likely," Aramis said quietly. "But we are not him."

Porthos huffed at that and handed Aramis his coat and belt back.

"We have our orders," Athos said. "Besides, that flower can supposedly cure any ill, and we may find ourselves in need of it for future magical attacks Milady might throw at us."

They all shared grim expressions.

"Agreed," Treville said. "Be quick, but try to collect as much as you can."

They nodded. With the way the battle with Milady was going, they were obviously going to need a magical arsenal of their own…


	2. Chapter 2

Ayelet was dreaming of whacking gophers that kept popping their heads up out of their holes when d'Artagnan's voice pierced the illusion and made it wobble.

"Ayelet, wake up."

She cracked her eyes open and turned her head to blink at him. It was early; the sun had yet to fully rise and the sky was only tinged with a light pale blue and peach.

"We have an urgent mission," her rider told her.

Ayelet perked up at that. She liked going on missions. She shuffled out of her den to find he had a small portion of breakfast waiting for her. She chuffed at him in question as she leaned down to gobble it up.

"We're going to the Jura," d'Artagnan explained. "It'll take us several hours to get there."

She looked up, chewing on her current mouthful, and cocked her head to one side curiously.

D'Artagnan's jaw visibly tightened. "Rochefort's been wounded by a magical blade and there's a flower that grows in the Jura that could cure him."

Ayelet nearly choked as she swallowed abruptly. Falkor's rider had been hurt? Had he been told?

"Finish up," d'Artagnan directed. "We leave soon." He then turned and strode back into the house.

Ayelet scarfed down the rest of her breakfast and then went to find Falkor. He rarely slept in the den he'd been given, and she found him out back behind one of the outbuildings, curled in a forlorn ball. Worried he was upset about his rider, Ayelet bounded in and asked how he was doing.

He startled at her raucous arrival and snarled slightly, then chastised her for waking him so early.

She was alarmed to discover he had not been told about Rochefort, so she proceeded to relay what d'Artagnan had said and assured Falkor that the Musketeers would bring back this cure for his human.

Falkor, however, appeared unbothered by the news. He merely stayed where he was lying on the ground and huffed. Rochefort deserved what he got, he said. Because he used magic to hunt down the witch, and no humans should ever use magic under any circumstances.

Ayelet was completely bewildered by his attitude. Did he truly care so little for his rider? Yes, Rochefort was a rough sort of human and certainly didn't display any such open care for Falkor, but…they were a pair. And this witch was a serious threat to everyone; why would using magic to fight back be wrong?

Ayelet tentatively asked him if he knew of this flower cure they were going to retrieve, wondering if he disapproved of it as well.

He shrugged that he didn't know of it. He then warned her to tread carefully and not let the humans lead her astray. If this flower required magic to make this cure, she shouldn't allow them to get their hands on it.

Ayelet could only stare at him, unsure how to respond to that.

"Ayelet!" d'Artagnan's voice sounded over the compound with a ring of impatience.

She turned and hurried back to him where she found him waiting with her saddle in hand. She flashed him an apologetic look and stood at attention while he fitted it on her. Then they walked over to the garrison together where Vrita, Rhaego, and even Savron were standing at the ready. It'd been a while since Savron and his rider had joined them on a mission and Ayelet was excited for it.

The four musketeers mounted up and then they took to the skies, heading northeast toward the Jura.

.o.0.o.

Rochefort shuddered as he lay in bed, every muscle in his abdomen writhing under the conflicting bursts of fiery agony and glacial spasming. He could feel the taint of black magic poison in the wound, knew it meant his inevitable death. The burnt flesh from the cauterization had done nothing to alleviate it and only added to his torment. It reminded him of his time in the Spanish prison, awakening demons he'd tried so hard to walk away from. They licked at his mind now like tongues of hellfire, trying to draw him back into those dark memories.

The door creaked open though he didn't turn his head toward it. He'd sent the doctor away after his failed treatment, cursing the physician's ineptitude but also his own foolishness when dealing with the witch. He'd underestimated her.

"Rochefort?" a soft voice queried and he immediately snapped his gaze to his left in surprise.

"Your Majesty," he breathed laboriously.

There was a chair beside the bed and Anne took a seat in it, worried eyes roving over him. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

He grimaced. "Your countenance is a balm more effective than any medicine," he said hoarsely.

She blushed and tried to smile, though it seemed pained. "The Musketeers have gone to get a cure. They will return and all will be well," she promised.

Rochefort couldn't help but scoff at that. He didn't trust the Musketeers with his well-being. No doubt they'd just as well prefer to see him laid low like this.

"Be careful not to misplace your trust," he said bitterly, pain making his tongue loose.

Anne straightened. "They have never let me down in the past," she declared staunchly, and he regretted the statement. He did not want to risk pushing her away.

"I should let you rest," she said and made a move to stand.

"Please," he blurted, voice breaking slightly as torturous whispers rallied in response to her leaving. He swallowed hard and worked to get his tone steady. "Stay," he asked.

Anne hesitated, but then settled back in the chair and reached out to take his hand.

Rochefort closed his eyes and basked at the touch of her delicate hand and soft skin.

He knew she returned his love.

.o.0.o.

Even by dragon flight, over three hundred miles was a long journey and the musketeers had to pace themselves with breaks every couple of hours or so. At least, that was what they chose to do. Aramis suspected that when it had been his life on the line, his brothers and their dragons had pushed themselves to the limit of their endurance to reach the Jura as quickly as possible.

They were making good time, though. Five hours down, two to go.

"Uh, what is that?" d'Artagnan called over the wind, pointing just east of their position.

Aramis squinted at four black blobs in the sky gradually growing larger—and heading straight for them.

The dragons shrieked and began to break formation as the strange creatures came upon them with frightening speed and an equally frightening countenance. Aramis ducked forward over Rhaego's neck as his dragon banked sharply to avoid a slash of razor sharp talons. He'd never seen anything like these things before.

They were half the size of the dragons, which gave them an advantage in speed and agility as the four beasts split to take one dragon each. Massive wings were made of black feathers but their torsos had scales. Bulbous heads with beady eyes sat atop elongated necks, and their curved beaks looked as sharp as their claws. High-pitched screeches raked across Aramis's ears like brittle glass, making him wince and cling tighter to his saddle.

It was a dog fight in the sky with each dragon under assault by one of the vicious beasts. Aramis felt the tip of a talon catch on his altitude cloak and rip an entire seam out. Rhaego twisted and turned in the air, snapping his jaws at his attacker while it tried to latch onto him from any direction possible. Through the dizzying spiral, Aramis saw the others in the same position.

Gripping the saddle horn with one white-knuckled hand, he grabbed one of his pistols and struggled to brace it against his arm in order to get as steady a shot as possible. Fortunately, with the monster trying to get so close to Rhaego, Aramis was able to line up the barrel right with its face and pull the trigger. The musket ball ripped clean through its skull, dropping it from the sky in a lifeless heap.

Rhaego corkscrewed away and around to come to the aid of the others. Vrita was soaring upside down and grappling with a beast, trying desperately to keep its beak and talons from shredding open her belly. Porthos was barely holding on in the saddle, his legs clamped tightly to her flanks. Rhaego surged forward and snatched the smaller creature away in his talons, then finished it off with a jaw crunching bite to its neck.

Vrita swiftly righted herself, flying straight in order to steady Porthos on her back.

Savron managed to fling his attacker away enough to spew a geyser of fire and roast it. It fell in a flaming ball toward the earth.

That left d'Artagnan and Ayelet fighting off the last one. Ayelet's agility more matched the smaller creature's, but she was still hard-pressed to keep it at bay, and Aramis saw flecks of blood streaked across her pristine white scales.

Savron let out a raging roar and swooped in, clamping his jaws around the beast and flinging it away. It flapped furiously with an obviously broken wing before spiraling toward the ground to join the others.

Aramis quickly looked around to see if there were more, but the skies were clear. Athos let out a shrill whistle and signaled for them to land, though they took a longer, sloping descent so as to put some distance between them and those creatures in case they were still kicking.

Once on the ground, Aramis immediately dismounted and began a survey of Rhaego for injuries. He seemed fine, so he moved on to Ayelet. She had some superficial scratches which d'Artagnan was already fussing over worriedly.

"They're not deep," Aramis assured him.

"Do you think those things could be poisonous?" the young Gascon asked anxiously.

Aramis hesitated. He didn't know what they were. "Most likely not the claws," he hedged. The beak and mouth could be another story…

"Let me know if you start feeling ill," Aramis told Ayelet seriously.

Having finished her examination, he swiftly checked over Vrita and Savron. Once he had an idea of everything, he'd know what to treat first.

"Any of you hurt?" he asked, casting a quick glance over his brothers.

Athos shook his head.

"Porthos, you all right?" Aramis pressed when his friend didn't respond.

Porthos gave a clipped nod. He looked a tad shaken, probably from having to cling to his saddle upside down for several terrifying moments. Aramis didn't blame him.

"The dragons have a few scratches," he reported. "I can treat them easily." He headed back to Rhaego to get the medicinal supplies from his saddlebag.

"What the hell were those things?" Porthos finally spoke.

"I don't know," Athos replied. "But I wouldn't be surprised if Milady had a hand in sending them after us."

"Because she doesn't want us to save Rochefort?" d'Artagnan said dubiously. "That's a lot of trouble to go to over him. Why would she care?"

"I'm not sure," Athos answered. "But it's a question I've been thinking about."

He didn't elaborate any further, apparently not ready to share what his musings had been.

"Should we go back and try to get a better look at one of those things?" d'Artagnan asked next.

Athos was silent as he thought about it. Aramis focused on cleaning Ayelet's scratches.

"Our mission is the flower in the Jura," he finally said. "Can Ayelet fly?"

"Yes," Aramis replied even as she squawked her own response. He gave her a fond smile and spread some salve on the scratches.

"Uh, we might have ta rethink that," Porthos said, nodding to the north. Dark storm clouds seemed to be billowing up out of nowhere.

They stood there for a long moment, watching the gathering brume. It would be dangerous to fly in weather like that, especially if lightning was a factor.

Athos heaved a sigh. "It looks like we'll need to find shelter for the night."

"You think that's Milady too?" d'Artagnan asked, a thread of nervousness in his tone.

None of them had an answer. It was either a coincidence…or a very frightening thought that she could summon weather on such a scale.

"Let's go," Athos finally prompted.

Aramis packed up his supplies and they began to make their way on foot in search of a place to make camp.

"Might be God's will," Porthos put in gruffly. "Us not savin' Rochefort in time."

Aramis didn't have a response to that. The Lord worked in mysterious ways. And Milady worked in malicious ones.

All the Musketeers could do was follow their orders and try not to get themselves killed in the process.


	3. Chapter 3

The storm petered out overnight, allowing the musketeers to resume their journey, and they finally arrived at the Jura the following morning. The vista was markedly different than the last time Porthos had seen it when they'd come in early spring and everything was coated in winter's landscape. It was late fall now, and the frozen lake Vrita had fallen into was glittering in the sunlight. Rugged gray peaks pointed into a blue sky clear of clouds.

Athos signaled for them to keep going and land in another valley—they didn't want to wake that giant dragon that lived in the one they'd visited previously. And the flower supposedly grew all over the mountain range, so they should be able to find it in another place. Porthos certainly wasn't willing to risk an encounter with a gargantuan dragon for Rochefort's sake.

The dragons touched down in a meadow and the musketeers dismounted.

"The flower is white with star-shaped petals," Athos told Aramis, who hadn't been with them the first time. "Spread out but stay within calling distance. And watch out for wild dragons."

They all gave affirming nods and split up. Even the dragons took off to do a sweep from above. At least the plant should stand out better without being surrounded by snow.

Porthos picked his way through the field toward a cluster of trees. Why couldn't the stuff grow out in the open? It seemed to like sheltered canopies, which just made it that much more of a hunt to find.

But there was a patch, growing right in front of him when he reached the tree line. He whistled sharply to catch the others' attention. Athos was a few dozen yards away and waved back, then knelt on the ground where he stood. He must have found some as well.

Porthos drew his knife and bent down to start harvesting the plant. He'd gotten a few handfuls stuffed into his pouch when one of those hideous black creatures came crashing down through the trees to land right in front of him.

Porthos reeled backward, barely avoiding getting his jugular pinched by a razor sharp beak. He landed hard on his back and the beast pounced on him. Porthos slashed at it with his dagger frantically and the thing screeched. Black ichor splattered the ground.

Porthos continued to flail and thrash, striking out haphazardly. The thing shrieked again and lifted off him, shooting out across the meadow. Porthos rolled onto his stomach and saw Rhaego and Ayelet giving chase.

Vrita landed next to him just as the others arrived.

"Porthos!" Aramis shouted, rushing forward to help pull him to his feet.

"I'm all right," he grunted, though he gave himself a quick check to be sure. That damn thing had come out of nowhere.

Savron suddenly belted out an alarmed call and they all whipped their gazes toward where he was looking. Porthos's breath caught in his throat at the massive black swarm rising up from the rocks across the meadow—right where Rhaego and Ayelet were pursuing the first beast toward.

"Ayelet!" d'Artagnan yelled.

"Rhaego!"

Even if the dragons could hear them, it was too late; they were on a speedy intercept course and the swarm of beasts descended on them like a crashing wave. Savron and Vrita launched into the air and rushed across the field to help, leaving the musketeers on the ground, unable to do anything but watch as dragon shrieks echoed across the valley.

Aramis drew his pistol and ran a few feet into the open, but he was too far away to get off a decent shot without a proper musket.

Savron and Vrita cut through the swarm with streams of dragon fire, but it still took too long for Porthos to get a glimpse of Rhaego or Ayelet amidst the cloud of black. When he finally did, his heart lurched at the sight of Ayelet falling in a tangle of attacking beasts. Rhaego wrenched away from the cluster attached to him and shot toward her, trying to get the two off her wing so she could catch herself. Then they disappeared again behind bursts of flames.

"Retreat!" Athos bellowed.

Porthos could only hope his voice carried over the high-pitched screeches rending the air. Not that it would matter—they were outnumbered and soon some of those beasts could break away and come at them. He whipped his gaze around in search of options and spotted a cave up a ways from their current position.

He smacked Athos on the shoulder and pointed. "There!"

Athos gave a clipped nod and yelled again as they started running toward the defensible position. Porthos heard Savron trumpet out something, hopefully a retreat. He kept casting harried glances to the side, wondering if the dragons would even be able to escape from the swarm.

But just as the musketeers reached the cave entrance, Porthos saw Rhaego and Ayelet manage to break away and start heading toward them, their flights low and ragged as they fought to cross the valley. Savron and Vrita swung around to bring up the rear. The swarm of black demons swirled up and veered after them.

Porthos's eyes widened and his hand fumbled at the grip of his pistol. There were too many…

The dragons were coming in fast and Athos yelled for the four of them to get out of the way. The musketeers pressed themselves against the edges of the cave as Rhaego and Ayelet came crashing in, wings buckling and the impact shaking the ground. Savron and Vrita were right behind them and pulled up short, scrambling into the entrance and spinning around. Porthos almost got knocked down by a swinging tail. Then the two of them belched out massive, criss-crossing streams of fire to fill the entire cave entrance.

The musketeers reeled back from the blistering heat and flinched at the blood-curdling shrieks that went up as the black demons flew straight into the inferno and were incinerated. Porthos threw an arm up to shield his face and watched the flickers of black that whooshed through the flames but didn't get through.

The blaze went on for several long seconds, which felt like an eternity, before the dragons finally ran out of breath and the flames sputtered out. The musketeers all whipped out their swords in preparation for an invasion…but no more beasts came careening into the cave. Porthos shifted slightly to get a look through the gap and saw a depleted swarm retreating. Blackened bits and lumps piled high in the cave entrance and just outside. One stumpy mass was crawling its way toward the opening. Athos pulled out his pistol and shot it.

They stood there for a moment longer, waiting to see if it was truly over or if the beasts would rally and return. It didn't look like they were.

"No," d'Artagnan breathed into the silence and darted to the back of the cave.

Porthos turned sharply, the tang of blood finally reaching his nose over the stench of burnt flesh. Ayelet and Rhaego were sprawled on the floor, bleeding from numerous gouges. Pools of red were already coating the cave floor.

"No, no, no." D'Artagnan skidded to a stop next to his dragon, eyes raking over the various wounds. Ayelet looked up and gave a pained mewl. "Aramis!"

Aramis's own dragon was in equally dire straits, lying on the floor and wheezing as Aramis hurried to get his saddle off. There were so many wounds, Porthos didn't know where he would start. Terror gripped his heart more fiercely than when they'd been facing that horde of demons.

"We need water, lots of it," Aramis said urgently. "Check the back of the cave for a spring or something. And I need a fire going."

Athos immediately set off further into the cave. Porthos briefly wondered whether something was hibernating back there, but it probably would have woken up by now if there was. He started casting his gaze around the immediate area for dry brush or twigs he could use to start a fire.

"You can help them, right?" d'Artagnan asked, sounding younger than he had in a long while. "The flowers can heal them?"

"I don't know," Aramis replied. "I pray they can. How were they used? I don't remember that part."

"Crush the petals an' make 'em into a paste," Porthos answered. He paused in his search for wood to bring over the stash he'd collected before he'd been attacked. "Do we have enough?"

Aramis looked at the pouch, then at what d'Artagnan had collected. "It'll have to be."

Porthos figured Athos had some too. They'd make it work.

Vrita shuffled over to Rhaego and Ayelet, trying to offer a comforting presence while staying out of Aramis's way. Savron stayed by the cave entrance to stand guard.

"There's water in the back," Athos reported as he rejoined them.

"Get it boiling," Aramis said, not even looking up as he flipped open his saddlebag and started tossing out all the bandages and triage supplies he had on hand.

Porthos collected enough brush and things to start a fire, which Savron obliged him with a small puff of flame. He then unpacked every tin cup they had on hand and went with Athos to start carrying water over so they could get it heated. After that, the two of them could only function as an extra pair of hands, holding supplies for Aramis as he worked, handing him things when he asked. He focused on making the poultices from the flower, figuring anything that claimed to be a miracle cure could handle warding off infection, so he didn't bother to clean the wounds.

Once they had enough, Aramis and d'Artagnan set to applying the paste to their dragons, starting with the more grievous wounds first and working their way around. Porthos hoped they did have enough, but if not, he could try slipping out to get more and just pray those beasts weren't still out there waiting for them.

"You'll be okay," d'Artagnan kept whispering to his dragon as he spread the poultice over the vicious gouges in Ayelet's hide while she writhed and keened beneath his touch.

Porthos stood by with the bowl for when he needed more. He wasn't sure how long it took to cover everything in the paste, but his back was aching fiercely by the time Aramis sagged back a step, seemingly done. The marksman crouched next to Rhaego's head and placed a hand on his snout.

"It will work quickly," Athos said in a soft voice. "We've seen it."

Aramis nodded mutely and took in a deep breath. Then he forced himself to his feet and turned to Vrita and Savron. "I doubt you two came out of that unscathed."

Savron gave him a measured look for a long moment before canting his head to his right flank. Aramis shuffled over to get a look.

"Could be worse," he said tiredly. "I'll clean it to be safe. Vrita, you too."

"Porthos and I can handle that," Athos spoke up.

Aramis stubbornly shook his head. When it came to injuries, he always took that responsibility on himself. "We won't be going anywhere for a while," he said gravely. "I'll rest after this."

Porthos and Athos shared a silent look. It was true: they were stuck for the time being.

Porthos wondered what that meant for Rochefort.

.o.0.o.

Anne sat by Rochefort's bedside, holding his hand in hers. It seemed to bring him some measure of comfort amidst the agony gripping his body. She bowed her head and sent up a prayer that the Musketeers would return in time. They had never let her down before, and she wanted to believe they would come through in this as well.

But the Jura was so far away and she knew it was a dangerous region. Part of her worried for them the longer it took for them to return.

A hitched breath from Rochefort drew her out of her thoughts, and she squeezed his hand tighter.

"Thank you," he wheezed, turning clouded eyes toward her. "'Tis a great comfort…your face being the last thing I see."

Her heart stuttered. "Don't talk like that," she chided. "There is still hope." Moisture pricked at the corners of her eyes at the thought of sitting here and watching him slip away. It made her want to leave. Maybe if she left, he would not give in so easily.

Yet how could she deny a dying man his last source of comfort when he had so little in the world?

Rochefort gave her a soft look. "Remember how you cried, all those years ago, when you left Spain for your marriage?"

She nodded at the memory. "I thought I would drown in tears."

"But you didn't. You were strong and you survived. I was at your side then and I am here now."

Anne shook her head, those tears welling more fiercely. Here he was the one facing death and Rochefort was trying to comfort _her_.

"I love you."

She blinked, startled by the abrupt statement. He was looking at her so earnestly that she furrowed her brow in confusion.

"As any subject loves his Queen," he added quickly.

She smiled softly in return and patted his hand. "Just rest."

The door creaked open and she looked up to see Doctor Lemay had entered.

"I must change the bandages," he said apologetically.

Anne nodded in understanding and stood up. "I'll be right outside," she promised Rochefort as she released his hand. His pained gaze followed her out until she was on the other side of the door.

Louis and Treville were standing in the hall, and her heart lurched with anticipation.

"Has there been any word from Athos?" she asked hopefully.

Treville shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

Her heart fell, and the ensuing silence weighed heavily like a funeral shroud.

Several minutes later, Lemay re-emerged.

"How is he?" Louis asked.

Doctor Lemay sighed regretfully. "The wound continues to bleed. As much as I am loath to admit my helplessness when treating my patient, only a miracle can help him now."

Anne turned away, pressing a hand to her breast and closing her eyes in desperate prayer again.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a tense, restless night in the cave with d'Artagnan and Aramis keeping a constant eye on Ayelet and Rhaego, checking their wounds for further bleeding or infection. Not long after the miracle flower poultice had been applied, both dragons had slipped into a still sleep, which d'Artagnan was both grateful and worried over. He kept looking to Aramis for cues, but the marksman seemed just as unsure about their prognosis. And so they waited.

Savron and Vrita took turns guarding the cave entrance, and neither Athos nor Porthos let their guard down that night either. The black demons didn't return.

D'Artagnan sat by Ayelet, one hand on a patch of unwounded scales, measuring her steady breathing. When dawn began to trickle through the cave opening and filled the space with more illumination, Aramis stood stiffly and went to examine one of the dried poultices on Rhaego's flank. He moved away for a moment, grabbing a small cloth and wetting it, then went back and began to wipe the flaky residue away. The white paste flecked off, revealing a wound that looked days old instead of hours. Aramis exhaled heavily.

He then came over to check one of Ayelet's worst wounds, repeating the process of gently cleaning off the dried poultice. D'Artagnan sagged with relief when he saw the jagged pink flesh underneath and not the gaping laceration from before.

Aramis picked up his rosary and pressed it to his lips. "If all their wounds have improved this much, they'll be fine. It doesn't even look like it will scar."

D'Artagnan hadn't even thought about that, having been so worried whether Ayelet would even survive those vicious wounds. Looking at all the patches of dried poultice over her scales, he was glad to hear she most likely wouldn't be marred in such a grievous manner that might affect her strength and agility.

Aramis re-wet the cloth and proceeded to wash the rest of the poultices off. Ayelet stirred at the ministrations, opening her eyes and blinking up at d'Artagnan. He offered her a soft smile and crouched down to stroke her head.

"You're okay," he soothed.

She fidgeted slightly as Aramis worked, though perhaps from discomfort more than pain. D'Artagnan watched all the paste get wiped away, revealing everything had healed astoundingly well overnight.

Aramis let out a low whistle. "Why has no one made a fortune harvesting these flowers?"

"Because anyone who tries is met with hideous monsters trying to eat them," Athos replied dryly.

D'Artagnan huffed. Yeah, there was that.

"Vrita and I will check the area," Porthos spoke up. "See if it's clear."

"Be careful," Aramis automatically replied as he moved on to Rhaego.

The russet dragon had made an equally amazing recovery. Both of them were still injured, of course, but Aramis tested a few of the areas and concluded they would likely hold up under flight, as long as they didn't push too hard.

D'Artagnan picked up Ayelet's saddle and eyed her back in concern. "Think you can bear it?" he asked.

Her expression pinched with hesitation, but she let him put it on. He was careful when fitting the straps, making sure they wouldn't chafe the partially healed cuts.

"Should be okay," he said.

Aramis had gotten Rhaego saddled as well by the time Porthos returned.

"Looks clear," he reported. "I picked up some more flowers. How much we got left?"

The four of them gathered together to take stock of their supply. They'd used a great deal on Ayelet and Rhaego but still had a couple of handfuls between them.

"Should we go out for more?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos shook his head. "It's too risky. If that swarm returns, we won't survive another ambush."

They pooled their collection of flowers together into Porthos's pouch and proceeded to pack up the rest of their supplies. D'Artagnan found a stray flower on the ground and tucked it reverently into his coat pocket. It amazed him that something so small and simple looking could have such effects.

Once they were ready, they ventured toward the opening of the cave and paused to look out. The morning sky was clear and bright, a tranquil hue sweeping over the valley that belied the hidden danger they knew could be out there.

They waited a few more moments before finally stepping outside and letting the dragons take to the skies. D'Artagnan was tense as he cast his gaze back and forth around the valley, braced for a sudden assault. But the mountains remained quiet as the four dragons veered with all speed away from the Jura.

They flew for an hour before stopping to take a rest and so Aramis could check Rhaego's and Ayelet's wounds. They were holding up, and neither dragon seemed to be suffering the effects of blood loss. It emboldened them to push a little harder, not only in haste to get back to Paris, but they were all still tensely on guard for another attack by those strange creatures. Yet as the miles rolled on behind them, they started to relax, thinking they'd gotten away clean.

They should have known better than to tempt fate.

They were only an hour from Paris when a massive wind storm kicked up out of nowhere. D'Artagnan folded himself forward over Ayelet's neck as she jerked and juddered against the battering currents. Swirls of dust plumed around them, blocking out visibility.

"Land!" someone shouted, probably Athos.

D'Artagnan's stomach somersaulted into his throat as Ayelet took an abrupt nosedive. She landed with a thud and d'Artagnan slid out of the saddle, pressing himself against her side to shield himself from the flying grit. Then just as instantaneously as it arrived, the winds sputtered out. D'Artagnan lifted his head carefully and looked around. He stiffened at the figure standing directly ahead of them.

Cloaked in black velvet and a fine dress with eyes of steel, Milady looked exactly as she had when she'd been the Cardinal's agent. …Except, currently two of those demonic creatures were standing at her side, beady eyes narrowed ravenously at the musketeers and their dragons.

The sounds of multiple blades being unsheathed broke the taut silence. Milady looked unimpressed, and given her recent displays of power, d'Artagnan truly wasn't certain they had a chance here…

She raked her callous gaze over each of them, like she was savoring the moment. "Why are you trying to save Rochefort?" she then asked casually.

D'Artagnan exchanged an uncertain look with the others. So she was trying to stop them.

"He wants you dead, you know," she went on.

"So do you," Porthos growled.

Milady smirked. "True. But all in due time. For the moment, I'll take that marvelous collection of lux stellarum you have there."

D'Artagnan glanced at the others again.

"Sorry, the what?" Aramis spoke up.

"Don't play dumb," she said tartly, then smiled. "A flower with mystical energy such as the ones you're carrying…there's all manner of spells I could cast with it."

D'Artagnan tensed further. That sounded like a very bad thing. By the grim looks of resolve on the others' faces, he knew they were thinking the same. They couldn't let Milady get her hands on the flower.

The dragons, picking up on their nonverbal cues, shifted in preparation to fight. Savron's and Rhaego's bellies glowed hotly a split second before they unleashed streams of fire. Milady's eyes flashed with amber light and a gust of wind whipped up out of nowhere, sucking the flames up into a swirling cyclone that veered sharply away from Milady and back around toward the musketeers.

The dragons shrieked and scrambled to shield their riders as blistering heat washed over them ahead of the roaring fire tornado. D'Artagnan ducked under Ayelet's wing, having nowhere else to go. He thought he heard a pistol shot but couldn't see who fired or if it hit its target.

The firenado swirled around them, sucking up dirt and oxygen so that d'Artagnan couldn't see and could barely breathe. Then, through the seething flames, the two demons came swooping down on them. One went for Vrita while the second tackled Porthos to the ground. D'Artagnan saw him rolling in a frantic effort to escape, saw him throw his head back with a pained cry as claws slashed across his shoulder. Then the beast snatched up his pouch and launched back into the fiery air, followed by its companion.

D'Artagnan ran to Porthos's side just as Athos did, while the dragons tried to hem them in on all sides against the inferno.

And then the howling cut off and the wind and flames evaporated. D'Artagnan lifted his head to look around. Milady and the creatures were gone.

He pushed sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes and turned back to Porthos as Aramis knelt beside him and quickly started prodding his shoulder. Porthos hissed sharply, blood coating his coat.

"Vrita," he ground out.

"I'll check her," d'Artagnan said and hurried over to her. Crimson had splattered her scales but nothing looked deep. "You all right?" he asked.

She bobbed her head in response and shifted her concerned gaze to her rider.

"You'll live," Aramis declared. "With a few stitches."

Porthos grunted at that. "Damn it."

"She got everything?" Athos asked, low tone laced with defeat.

Porthos gave a clipped nod.

D'Artagnan clenched his fists in frustration. After all that, they'd be returning empty-handed.

He straightened abruptly and patted his pocket, then swiftly reached inside to see if the flower was still there. He pulled out the slightly crumpled white petals and held it out for them all to see. For a long moment, no one said anything. Then Porthos huffed.

"I sure wouldn't mind usin' that," he said through gritted teeth.

D'Artagnan grimaced, not wanting to be the one to say it. "What about Rochefort?"

Athos looked at Porthos sagely, then at Aramis.

Aramis shrugged grudgingly. "I can patch this up."

Athos nodded. "Hurry. There might still be time to get the flower to Rochefort. And if not," he added to Porthos, "then you might get to use it after all."

.o.0.o.

Athos didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved that Rochefort was still alive when they finally returned to Paris, but given the King's recently shaken trust in his Musketeers, Athos was going to go with relieved. The Queen certainly was.

"Praise God," she said when he handed over the single flower to Doctor Lemay outside of Rochefort's chambers.

The physician made haste to return to his patient and administer the treatment.

"Let's hope this works," Louis muttered. "Were you able to obtain more of this flower to arm ourselves against future magical attacks?"

Athos's jaw ticked. "Unfortunately, Your Majesty, we encountered…opposition."

"What kind of opposition?" the Queen asked in concern, her gaze flitting around as though she just noticed the others hadn't accompanied Athos back to the palace.

"The witch Milady tried to stop us," he admitted. "Porthos and the dragons sustained some injuries, but they will recover. That one flower was all we managed to save."

Louis's eyes widened in disbelief and he began to sputter in outrage.

"Then Rochefort is most fortunate," Anne stepped in before he could devolve into a blustering tirade. "And the witch has not succeeded. That is what is most important."

No one said anything to that. It remained to be seen whether Rochefort would recover, though given the flower's properties, Athos didn't doubt that outcome. Still, he waited with the King and Queen for news until Lemay re-emerged and informed them the flower appeared to be working its wondrous powers on Rochefort's wound. It seemed he would live after all.

While the doctor was speaking with the King and Queen, Athos took the opportunity to slip into the Comte's apartments. Rochefort still looked as though he was on his deathbed, but his breathing was easier. The man's eyes cracked open and he still managed a disparaging glower Athos's way.

"I suppose you think this means I owe you my life."

"We were merely following orders," Athos replied blandly. He paused, considering Rochefort for a moment. "You should be careful," he finally said. "Milady is treacherous, and you would be wise to take hunting her down seriously."

Rochefort visibly bristled. "The attack on me shows just how seriously I have been taking it."

Athos's mouth quirked. "Of course."

With that, he turned and left.

Whatever was between Milady and Rochefort likely wasn't over.

Nor between her and the rest of them.

.o.0.o.

Ayelet stood patiently in the dragon compound yard while Jean checked her over.

"Remarkable," he breathed, then sobered as he looked at the musketeers. "I can only imagine how bad these were initially." He moved on to look Rhaego over next.

"We were lucky," d'Artagnan confirmed.

Ayelet kept turning her head back and forth, scanning the compound for Falkor. She thought he would have wanted to hear what happened. But he didn't show himself from whatever hole he'd hidden in this time.

Vrita asked what she was so antsy about, gently adding that the witch had gotten what she wanted and wouldn't be sending those demons into a whole garrison filled with dragons.

Ayelet huffed that she knew that. She was just concerned about Falkor. It was his rider they were trying to help; she thought he would have wanted to know if they'd succeeded. She didn't understand, she finished with a sigh.

Vrita and Savron exchanged a wordless look that had Ayelet cocking her head at them.

There's something off with Falkor, Savron finally said. She should keep her distance, he warned.

She frowned. Yes, Falkor was different than the other dragons in the compound and garrison, but he hadn't done anything bad. He put on a tough front but surely he must be lonely. Ayelet didn't think that was reason to shun him.

So once the other Musketeer dragons returned to the garrison, Ayelet went to seek him out. This time when she approached him out behind the storeroom, he lifted his head, expression shifting with subtle affect as he looked her over. He asked if she was all right.

She said she was. It hurt, before, and there'd been a moment when she'd thought she might die. But her rider saved her, she added emphatically, using the flower they also brought back for Rochefort.

Ayelet hesitated, and when Falkor didn't say anything, she went on, admitting that she'd never been injured like that before and it had been frightening. She was ashamed.

Being afraid wasn't shameful, he told her, and sounded serious enough she believed him.

She said she supposed her first battle scars were something to celebrate, then, but immediately regretted the words. Any scars she came out with wouldn't be nearly as prominent as Falkor's.

The other dragon didn't respond to that, though. He simply said he was glad she'd made it back safely.

Ayelet beamed inside. Savron's warning was unfounded. Falkor just needed a friend and she was determined to be that for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> Emilie of Duras comes to Paris preaching war against King Philip of Spain. The nature of her "visions" strikes a chord with Aramis after his own harrowing experience and challenges his faith.


End file.
